Tales of lonely trails eBook

I shouted and ran forward, having no idea what to
do, but Emett rolled backward, at the same instant
the other men got a strong haul on the lion.
Short as that moment was in which the lasso slackened,
it sufficed for Jones to make the rope fast to a tree.
Whereupon with the three men pulling on the other
side of the leaping lion, somehow I had flashed into
my mind the game that children play, called skipping
the rope, for the lion and lasso shot up and down.

This lasted for only a few seconds. They stretched
the beast from tree to tree, and Jones running with
the third lasso, made fast the front paws.

“It’s a female,” said Jones, as
the lion lay helpless, her sides swelling; “a
good-sized female. She’s nearly eight feet
from tip to tip, but not very heavy. Hand me
another rope.”

When all four lassos had been stretched, the lioness
could not move. Jones strapped a collar around
her neck and clipped the sharp yellow claws.

“Now to muzzle her,” he continued.

Jones’ method of performing this most hazardous
part of the work was characteristic of him. He
thrust a stick between her open jaws, and when she
crushed it to splinters he tried another, and yet another,
until he found one that she could not break. Then
while she bit on it, he placed a wire loop over her
nose, slowly tightening it, leaving the stick back
of her big canines.

The hounds ceased their yelping and when untied, Sounder
wagged his tail as if to say, “Well done,”
and then lay down; Don walked within three feet of
the lion, as if she were now beneath his dignity; Jude
began to nurse and lick her sore paw; only Moze the
incorrigible retained antipathy for the captive, and
he growled, as always, low and deep. And on the
moment, Ranger, dusty and lame from travel, trotted
wearily into the glade and, looking at the lioness,
gave one disgusted bark and flopped down.

III

Transporting our captives to camp bade fair to make
us work. When Jones, who had gone after the pack
horses, hove in sight on the sage flat, it was plain
to us that we were in for trouble. The bay stallion
was on the rampage.

“Why didn’t you fetch the Indian?”
growled Emett, who lost his temper when matters concerning
his horses went wrong. “Spread out, boys,
and head him off.”

We contrived to surround the stallion, and Emett succeeded
in getting a halter on him.

“I didn’t want the bay,” explained
Jones, “but I couldn’t drive the others
without him. When I told that redskin that we
had two lions, he ran off into the woods, so I had
to come alone.”

“I’m going to scalp the Navajo,”
said Jim, complacently.

These remarks were exchanged on the open ridge at
the entrance to the thick cedar forest. The two
lions lay just within its shady precincts. Emett
and I, using a long pole in lieu of a horse, had carried
Tom up from the Canyon to where we had captured the
lioness.